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User blog:SkyrimsShillelagh/Twelve Stars of Taneth: Epilogue
So, I created pages for Twelve Stars, all the blogs being complied into 5 parts, with 3 chapters a part. I'll probably be making subtle additions to the story over time, adding tidbits and correcting mistakes. However, the blogs are going to remain unchanged, sort of the rough originals. Thus, if you're ever looking back at these, I'd suggest reading the pages instead, because they'll be more concise. I'll link them right here. Thanks for reading. Chapter 14 Epilogue: The Once and Future King Aleera leaned back wearily in her throne as the courtly proceedings ended for the day. The full weight of her age hit her now. At ninety-six years old, Aleera was one of the longest reigning, and oldest, monarchs alive. She hadn’t lost any of her faculties, but many were whispering that perhaps she should step down an allow a younger scion to take the throne—behind her back, of course, no one would dare mention such a thing to her face. Rising from the throne, she slowly descending the steps of the dais, began a slow walk towards an adjoining hallway, her personal guard naturally falling into step behind her. Through the large-widowed halls and marbled floors of the palace she went, until she came to a discrete bedroom, away from the bustle of the rest of the building. It was a little suite, with plenty of amenities, with a steady stream of servants going in and out. “Your Highness, I insist you drink this.” An urgent voice pleaded with someone, reaching Aleera as she passed through the doorway into the room. A large, excessively cushioned and very elegant bed was the mainstay of the room. The speaker was sitting in a chair by the bedside—a surgeon, who was currently trying to force a medication on the bed’s occupant. “Can’t do it.” The bed-ridden old man said, turning his face away from the proffered medicine bottle like an unruly child. “Why not, my lord?” “Tastes funny.” “I added sugar in, as you asked, up to the specific ounce you requested.” “Smells off.” “It has no smell.” “My point, medicine should smell bad, like ale someone went and sneezed up.” “Please drink it.” “How do I know it’s not poison?” “It’s not, I promise.” “Exactly what an assassin would say.” The old man retorted, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Help! Guards! This man is trying to poison me!” He shouted. There was a flurry of movement as no less than five armed men, all of whom had been hidden in carefully strategic locations around the room, burst into view, drawing swords. “Whoa! Whoa!” The surgeon protested, raising his hands to show he meant no offense, and dropping the medicine bottle in his haste. “No poison! I’m the doctor! The doctor!” They didn’t seem convinced. “It’s alright.” Aleera promised the armed guards. They were all dressed in the black robes of Janissaries. They gave her a nod, and then faded back into the shadows. The old man was laughing delightedly, covering his mouth with the covers in a poor attempted to hide it. “Your Highness, I wish that you hadn’t—“ The doctor paused, glancing down to the floor, where the medicine bottle had shattered. “Damnit.” The surgeon cursed, before rising to his feet in a rather aggressive fashion, and hastening towards the exit. “My apologies, Your Majesty,” he addressed Aleera, stopping to speak with her, “but I can no longer do this. All my attempts to restore his health are rebuffed quite soundly. I cannot work on a patient who doesn’t want to be healed.” “It’s alright, doctor, I know you did the best you could.” Aleera assuaged him. “You may leave.” The surgeon bowed to her, and then was gone. Aleera sighed, and crossed the room, taking a seat in the bedside chair. Her own bodyguards took up a position on either side of the entryway. “That’s the third healer you’ve chased off, dad.” Aleera said, scratching above her eyebrow. “I know.” The old King grimaced, sitting up in his bed, slouching back into the thick pile of pillows that padded his bedframe. He didn’t look at her, but was staring at the wall across from his bed, his eyes slightly vacant. “I thought I’d have gone through more of them by now. That last one was pretty determined.” “You need to start the treatments again. It was when you stopped that your health started to fail.” “Pfft, treatments. New age bullshit if you ask me. You know what I took to keep me alive back in the day? Unicorn horns. I ate fucking unicorn horns--and now I’m a hundred and sixteen. Treatments can suck my dick.” Her father declared vehemently, nodding with sageness. He lost control his mouth sometimes, and blamed it on old age, saying he had a right to be cankerous. “No, Aleera. I don’t need any treatments. It’s simply my time.” Aleera reached out, taking one of his hands. The skin was taunt around the bone, veins plainly visible underneath. His whole frame was skinny, and his face had started to look very gaunt. His hair, which had once been a brown so rich it bordered maroon, was faded, devoid of life, and had streaks of grey in it. His eyes were still sharp as they had ever been though, and there was proof of that enough in how he’d chased the doctor out just now. “It can't be your time.” Aleera told him. “I’m only holding on for you.” He chuckled good-naturedly, as if she’d said something funny. “That’s sweet of you Aleera, but you haven’t needed me since you learned to walk, and you’ll do fine without me. You’re made of steel, you aren’t losing your grip on life anytime soon.” Her father had always had an immortal quality to him. Nothing could touch him, come what may. It had been inspiring and reassuring growing up, because no matter what happened, he could deal with it. And Aleera had grown used to that image of him in her mind, the image of someone who would never be knocked down. She hadn’t ever really imagined him dying, even as the years piled on, because it didn’t compute with who he was. Sahir al Din couldn’t die, it simply wasn’t how the world was supposed to work. He always supposed to be just there, a calming influence and never ending source of good humor. But he was dying because, eventually, everyone did. She blinked suddenly, furiously, feeling wetness in her eyes, and leaned her elbows onto the bed, grasping his frail hand in both of her’s. Crimson turned his head to look at her, letting it rest lazily against the pillow. “I’m ready to die, Aleera. I’m ready to move on. I’ve milked every minute I could out of life. I have no regrets, other than leaving you here.” He smiled gently, and continued. “I outlived your mother by forty-six years. She has been gone a period longer than the length of time which I knew her. It is a painful feeling, to be separated the person you love most for so long. I’ve never stopped missing her. It never became easier to face her absence. I’ve been very alone, Aleera.” “You still have me, and Hakim, and Qadara, everyone.” “That’s not what I mean. I’m a man out of time. I’ve witnessed four generations of my family. Taneth, it’s moved on from how I knew it. So has the world. It’s scary thing, knowing you’ve been left behind.” All her father’s friends from the past were dead, leaving him with a feeling of isolation. Girth, his once second-in-command of the Keshik, Jeremias, a woman named Diana, the Eternal Champion Talin Warhaft, Jude, Zaydate. Even Whistles had passed. The one thing that had brought her father fresh joy in these twilight years was the new Hall of Virtues. He had even trained some students there himself, briefly. The Way of the Sword was returning, and Aleera knew that meant more to him than he could ever put int owords. And, afterwards, she would sometimes catch him watching Corten Mont from a balcony, as if expecting a sign from the spirit that live there. None ever came, but Aleera had a feeling it had turned out all right. “So no. No treatments, just allow me my peace.” The both were silent for a moment, as Aleera worked up the courage to speak. “I’m going to miss you, dad.” She croaked, emotion seizing her throat. “I’m gonna miss you too, kid.” He promised with a warm smile, reaching out to stroke her head with his free hand. “My beautiful daughter. I'm proud of you. No matter what, you remember you earned your name.” She gave a nod, not trusting her voice. “Alright.” Her father began, turning away and shutting his eyes. “I think I’mma sleep now.” Aleera smirked, releasing his hand. She didn’t get up to leave, instead leaned back in the chair, content to be there with him in silent solidarity. Abruptly, as he settled into his bed with shut eyes, he started to laugh. “What?” Aleera asked. “Just got this joke someone told me once.” The Crimson Archer grinned, pulling the covers up to his chin. He died later, peacefully, in his sleep, surrounded by his children, and their children, and their children, and their children, as he’d wanted, since dying in battle was a young man’s game. Aleera thought there would be a day--there must ''be a day-when the Crimson Archer would come back to Taneth with a new Keshik which had no boundries as the world had none--a group without boundries to keep the peace between nations. Now, the al Dins gathered to witness the passing of the patriarch of their house, who had first defied death by befriending a unicorn, who then made men feel honored to die on his word, who led with a quick tongue instead of a quick fist, who had given up royalty to be common and became exceptional, and then reclaimed royalty because he ''was exceptional, who had sacrificed his own life three times and managed to survive each, who held regular conversations with a horse, who was convinced marriage was an elaborate sham, who believed in second chances, who didn't have a shadow because he'd killed it, who was the father of respectively the worst and best king and queen in history, who slew a god by tricking it into stabbing him, and who, most importantly, understood the need for a graceful exit: The Man in Red, King Sahir al Din, The Crimson Archer. THE END OF TWELVE STARS OF TANETH Category:Blog posts Category:Stories Category:Twelve Stars of Taneth